Can't
by ZiggycamefromMars
Summary: There are two things you can't run and hide from—God, and your dysfunctional family.


**A/N: I'm only on season one—and by that, I mean I have around another six episodes to go, and then I'm moving onto season two. I guess after watching most of season one I just really wanted to write something, which is something I find frequently happens when I start watching a new show.**

**So if you think it's rubbish, don't be harsh with your comment.**

* * *

"Sammy. You okay?"

Sam sighed from his position in the backseat, head propped up against the window. Every now and again a little cloud of breath appeared, only to fade. He felt compelled to reach across and shove Dean, but settled for angrily staring into his brother's back.

"What?" Dean bristled at the lack of reply. His eyes narrowed in the mirror, a hand reaching up to move it so he could see his younger brother better. "You just planning on sitting there and giving me the silent treatment, or are we going to behave like adults?"

Sam snorted. Dean was a fine one to lecture him on behaving like a responsible adult. And the silence? Well, he was hardly going to feed his brother's already massive ego. He was tiring enough as it was.

"Sammy."

1.30 am. Was that enough time gone without talking? Dean might've thought so, but Sam wasn't so convinced. His brother simply wouldn't let up about the whole you-abandoned-dad-and-I-you-owe-us-an-apology debacle, and since when had that become such an issue? He thought they'd smoothed things over after the bug infestation incident—

"Sammy! I fucking swear to God that I will take this can, and shove it up your proud ass."

Perhaps not.

* * *

Sam risked—and he thought it was a risk, because Dean was liable to some serious bitching in the early hours of the morning—a glance over at his older brother, who had finally stopped whining and had mustered enough energy to crawl under the covers of his bed. He was breathing heavily, brows furrowed and thin-lipped. Sam chewed the bottom of his lip, rubbing at his right eye with his hand.

He loved him, he really did—he just struggled to understand why Dean hadn't let him save him when he was at death's door. How he had waved the idea of treatment away, countless arguments occurring after Sam had him healed by Reverend Roy Le Grange. And why, just why did he not think himself worthy of saving?

"Hey, princess; if you're going to stare at me like that for that long, you might need to reconsider your affections towards me." Dean stretched out from under the duvet, sharply jerking his head in his brother's direction. "I don't swing that way, man."

Sam couldn't help but smile. Slowly, carefully, he set down his father's notebook on the bedside table and shifted under his sheet. And then he looked across at his brother with a slightly exasperated look on his face.

"I know," he started, "I was just…worrying, Dean."

"Worry about someone else, eh?" He scratched the back of his neck, groaning. "I think you need to start focusing on your own health, man. Not eating isn't healthy. You'd lecture me if I wasn't, so don't think you can back out of this one."

"Dean-"

"No, man," Dean interjected, glaring daggers. "I've seen the way you pick at your food in the morning, the way you pretend to chew those pancakes—and why, Sammy? Why won't you eat? I know I took the piss out of you when we were kids—you were kinda fat, after all—but it didn't mean anything. It was…friendly."

"No, Dean. Jesus! It's not like that. I'm not…yknow.." He gestured vaguely to the air, shaking his head quickly.

Dean frowned, silently pushing himself up from underneath the covers. He held them so they wouldn't make a rustling noise, and with precision lifted one leg up and it slid it out to the side, the other shakily following behind until both his feet were firmly planted on the floor. As warm skin came into contact with cold, hard wood, he winced. With a quick glance across at his brother he noticed he had now stopped laughing, a serious look on his face.

"Is it 'cause of dad?"

Sam nodded. "Partly," he mumbled, long, nervous fingers fiddling with the corner of his duvet.

"Partly?" Dean shook his head, now standing over his brother's bed. "You expect me to be satisfied with that morsel of information? Jeez."

What do you want me to say? Do you want me to fall to my knees, to wrap my arms around you and sob into your neck? I can't. This all feels too weird. I knew too once, a long time ago back when we were kids and things were a little bit more normal, but now everything is different and I don't know who I should be. I want to be a part of the family, to be able to join in with your little jokes and anecdotes—but do I really have to sacrifice this normality that has taken so many years to build? I've built a fort. Inside this fort I am safe—and Jessica, she was safe. But then you came along and the fort came crumbling down; the monsters snatched her away and I'm clawing my way back, only to find that you're going to do anything to stop me.

I love you Dean, I really do, but a guy's gotta be normal sometimes.

"Look Dean, I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry." He hesitated, drawing a long, shaky breath. "I'm sorry I never lived up to dad's expectations, that I could never manage to pull the trigger or never got what he was going on about. I guess you're the hunter and I'm…the student. "

"So what you're trying to say," Dean hissed, pressing a hand to his forehead. "What you're trying to say is that you're just going to give up, Sammy?! How could you do this to dad? He's missing, Sam. We can't just pick up the motherfucking phone and ring him up. It doesn't work like that."

"And I'm sick of you and your priorities," he continued. "I'm sick of dad and I being second best. When are we ever going to be brothers, Sammy? When? I can't—I can't wait years again for us to see each other. You have to make a decision—the rightdecision—and come back to me when you've made it."

Dean's tone suggested anger, impatience and disappointment. His face showed sadness, anguish and despair. As his lips curled and quivered into a slight snarl he jerked his head away, refusing to look at his younger brother.

Sam reached out and flicked off the light. It hurt to let go again.

Dad, I'm sorry I couldn't be like Dean. I guess you guy's and I are just too different; I prefer the normality of life, while you guys like being chased around by brain-dead fuckers. Damn it. I guess there are two things you can't run and hide from—God, and your dysfunctional family.


End file.
